


Confessions in the Dark

by saltslimes



Category: Red vs Blue
Genre: Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 20:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4406537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltslimes/pseuds/saltslimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the echoey bunk, Grif can hear things. Sometimes those things are rough. Eventually, he decides he has to say something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confessions in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babbyspanch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babbyspanch/gifts).



> For my best bud, you deserve everything good in the world, but I don't have the power to make that happen, so instead I made you a short fic because you like grimmons and grimmons is good.

In the lonely dark of the bunk, Grif could hear things. The concrete walls echoed like a bitch, so every night he'd hear the creak of a screwdriver as Simmons adjusted his cyborg parts, and every morning he'd hear Donut hop out of his bed across the room singing, or humming or for one ungodly week, tap-dancing, as he went about his daily routines.

And some nights, in the utter dark of the bunk with the lights shut off, he could hear crying, from the bunk below. Always soft, aborted sobs, always slowing until they became silent, long breaths. And every time he heard it he would imagine getting out of his bed, dropping down to the ground, and wrapping his arms around Simmons. And every time he would put his pillow over his ears and try to block out the echoes until they fell silent.

Until the night after he and Simmons had sat in the Warthog in the shade for hours, trading kisses, trading more than that. They hadn't talked though, and later Grif found himself wondering why. Maybe it was because talking about it would make it too real. Neither of them wanted to be... What? The gay soldier? Or something else... In love with a squadmate. Either way, it was that last straw.

That night, instead of just imagining, he climbed down out of his bunk and dropped to the ground. He heard Simmons' sharp intake of breath, heard him twist around in bed to peer through the dark at Grif.

"Shh. It's okay," Grif whispered, quiet so as not to wake Donut in the bed across the room. He crouched down and reached out in the blackness, until he located one of Simmons' hands, and felt fingers squeeze his. "It's okay," Grif said again, although they both knew it wasn't really.

Nothing had been okay for a long time but hell, at least they hadn't lost each other, Grif thought. He felt Simmons pull himself over closer, so his head bumped up against Grif's chest. His legs were straining from crouching.

"Hey, slide over, let me on," he said. In the second of silence he almost expected a sharp retort, but instead Simmons slid over and he hauled himself into the narrow bunk beside him. They ended up sort of tangled together, but still hand in hand, Simmons head on his chest and the thought crossed his mind that this was a pretty gay and compromising situation but somehow he was willing to overlook it. Somehow it didn't seem all that important how it looked, but rather how it felt.

"What are you thinking?" Grif asked, when they'd been laying there in the darkness for a while. He thought maybe Simmons wouldn't answer.

"I just wish he would... No, forget it."

"It's just me Simmons."

"I wish he would tell me he's proud of me. And I'm so hung up on it I make myself look like and idiot. And I keep asking myself why I even want--why I need approval this much. But it never changes anything," Simmons said, whispered it towards the bunk above like he was totally alone. And Grif realised that was what the canyon did. It made you feel like you were alone. He'd sure as hell felt it. He let out a kind of half sigh, half bitter laugh.

"He makes all of us feel like that." He felt Simmons twist to look for his face. "I don't know why any of us want his respect. And I don't know if this counts for anything, but... I'm proud of you."

"What?" Simmons asked, voice thick with disbelief. Grif felt his face heating up, in both the same way it had in the Warthog and a different way altogether. Why was this so hard? What made talking harder than sex?

"I mean... You the smartest guy I know. Smartest guy I've ever known. And you care. You care so much you're part fax machine. You're my... You're the closest I think I've ever been. To anyone. And that scares me. And I think it scares you. That's why we couldn't talk in the Warthog."

"I was afraid," Simmons said, and halted. But Grif waited and he continued. "I was afraid you didn't feel anything. I was afraid you didn't want to be Gay Soldier Grif."

"I didn't. But, I think for you, I kind of have to be. And I'm...I'm okay with that," Grif said. He felt Simmons twist again, and then lips planted on his cheek.

"Did you miss? Gimme a good one," he whispered. Simmons snorted. Then he felt lips on his, warm and sort of chapped like Simmons' lips always were. One cold metal hand on his cheek, one warm human hand on his chest. Everything in its right place.

When they broke apart and Simmons came back to rest with his head on Grif's chest he said: "Please don't call me Gay Soldier Grif."

"I actually think I'm going to," Simmons said.

"I'm gonna call you sexy Simmons then."

"Go for it. I love that," Simmons said.

"Dammit."


End file.
